In His Legacy
by EmberskyofShadowClan
Summary: On her deathbed, Madame Giry reveals a secret that could end up tearing Meg apart. Now alone, the ballerina has to figure out her past- and her present- for herself.
1. Prologue

**Hello! I can honestly say that I'm a little scared to be posting this, seeing as I've never written/posted PotO fanfiction before, and I know that everyone who has followed/faved me probably hasn't even heard of PotO, meaning that I'm basically starting anew with fans and stuff. **

**So… I've had this idea for a long time, and I've actually planned out this story somewhat! (Yay!) I hope you guys enjoy, and please leave a review or two!**

**Oh, and a disclaimer: I don't and never will, own anything or one from the Phantom of the Opera… that all belongs to Gaston Leroux and ALW.**

Meg Giry had seen many things in her relatively short lifetime, and had thought that she was prepared for anything.

But watching her mother die of consumption before her eyes was something she could never be prepared for. Madame Giry was currently lying weak on her bed, hacking coughs coming out weak and tired. The doctors had long since gone home, telling the young Giry girl that there was nothing more they could do. They had already resigned themselves to the death of the older woman, something Meg blatantly refused to do.

_She'll be fine… Mother will be fine. This is all a dream, just a silly nightmare caused by stress. _Yes, the ballet had been more difficult that usual, with the new production of Meyerbeer's _Le Claire de Lune_ and the sudden demand for dancers in the Opera House. And then there was that awful catastrophe of the 'Phantom of the Opera,' that ended with her unfortunate friend Christine's capture and subsequent escape. Immediately after, she had begun planning her wedding with the Vicomte de Chagny, and naturally, she seemed to think that Meg, one of her closest friends, would be a wonderful help with the planning.

So poor Meg had been swamped with an unreasonable amount of work for weeks. Enough work that it was perfectly reasonable that she could have restless nights and unexpected dreams every once in a while.

"Mademoiselle?" The final doctor had exited her mother's room with a tragic expression on his face. "Madame Giry is asking for you."

_Just a dream, _she repeated in her mind. _Just a dream…_

But the sweat beading her mother's brow didn't seem like a dream. And the scent of blood and sterile sheets was too real, too lifelike. "Meg…" the woman rasped, "There's something… there's something I need to tell you." Her words were punctuated by a mild fit of coughs, and when she was finished, Mme Giry sunk low into her bed sheets.

"Shh…" Meg urged, pushing her mother down with a gentle hand. Dream or not, she shouldn't be talking.

"Meg-" she said urgently, again. "Do you… do you remember the Opera Ghost? The Phantom?"

Meg nodded slowly. How could she not? It had happened mere months ago, and the memories, of Christine's terrified face, of those strange, red-inked letters, of the warnings, and chandelier, and angry managers, all blurred into one, unforgettable scene in her mind.

"There is something you must know… The Phantom- Erik- He is… He is your father. You are his child."

By now, Mme Giry was breathing heavily; it was a stark and rather concerning contrast to her normal composed self.

_No! _It wasn't possible. That was it. It simply _wasn't possible. _

_Remember, _Meg told herself sternly. _Don't get too upset. This is all a dream. All. A. Dream. Caused by overwork. That's it._

"I should've… should have told you sooner. But… I was scared. Scared how you would react. He doesn't- didn't- know…"

_Just a dream just a dream just a dream just a dream_

She knew that she was panicking. But she told herself that there was no point- it was all a dream.

But as her mother's breathing faded into silence and her grip on Meg's hand faded, she suddenly wasn't so sure about that.

**So there you have it. And yes, I know that this is very short. Don't worry, it's a prologue, and it's supposed to be. And don't be driven off by how "predictable" this story is. I promise that there are plenty of things coming up that you (hopefully) haven't seen before.**

**So did you like it? Reviews, and constructive criticism, are appreciated! **


	2. A Dream, and Nothing More

**Hello again! For me, this was a pretty fast update, so I'm proud of myself. :)**

**Also, thank you all so much for the reviews, favorites, and follows! I'm delighted at all the feedback after only one chapter!**

**grandma paula: Thank you for being my first reviewer! :)**

**Whitherwings7: Thank you very much, for your review as well as your fave and follow!**

**Not A Ghost3: Thanks for the thoughtful review!**

**Rainstorm The RainWing: Wow- you like Phantom of the Opera?! It's nice to see someone else from my other fandoms who likes it! Thanks for the review!**

**Now, onto the story: **

A _dream. _It _had _to be a dream. Meg felt a sort of numbness as her mother's breathing ceased. _A dream… _

Yet, somehow, her mother's death-white skin blending in with the pale sheets created such a realistic picture that made Meg uncomfortable. She closed her eyes and prayed, clutching Mme. Giry's limp hand with unnecessary force. _Please, oh _please _be a dream. It's just too much to handle._

Any moment now, Meg would wake up, disgusting and sweaty yet relieved, laughing at herself for being so scared. But long, slow seconds passed, and Meg could still feel the disturbing chill in the air that comes with death. She could still feel the rough floorboards beneath her knees, and the hand so desperately held in her own. Worse yet, the last few words of her mother hung sharp and impossible in forefront of her mind.

To her frustration (and slight unease), no matter how hard she pinched herself, she wasn't transported to her familiar bed, which she found herself longing for, no matter how small and worn it may be.

She felt suddenly dizzy, as white-clad men poured in to take away the body. The scene swirled and danced in front of her eyes, reminding her of the image of dozens of ballerinas twirling across a stage. She felt strong hands on her shoulders, leading her from the room. She was vaguely aware of being led from the distant corner of the Opera House where her mother let out her last breath, to the dorms of the other ballet girls. Several pairs of curious eyes settled on Meg, some filled with sympathy, others hungry for new gossip. But none said anything, noting Meg's obviously lethargic expression.

She stumbled to her bed (the person who had led her away having rejoined his colleagues) and collapsed onto it. As she faded out of consciousness, her last thought was, _Maybe now I'll wake up, and everything will be normal again._

She slept deeply and dreamlessly, only waking hours later when Aurélie, one of the newer ballerinas, shook her roughly by the shoulders.

Meg blinked open her eyes, smiling when she took in the familiar picture of several girls of various ages scuttling around like frenzied insects. _So it _was_ all a dream. Everything is normal! I was just having another strange dream! _She grinned in delight.

"Wake up, Meg," Aurélie told her. "The managers, M. Firmin and M. André, have an announcement! They want the whole crew; everyone who will be in the new production has to be there!"

Meg nodded, still reeling from her disturbing dream. She hurriedly brushed her curls back, checked to make sure her outfit was decent, then obediently followed the rest of the dancers as they swarmed up to the main opera hall, where rehearsals took place.

When the entire cast had gathered, M. Firmin stepped forward to address the crowd in his booming voice. "Ladies and gentlemen!" he shouted. "We have a very tragic-" He exchanged glances with M. André- "bit of news. Our own Mme. Giry, ballet instructor, has passed on; she died of disease."

Meg thought she had heard him wrong. But as the dancers, chorus, and other cast members began to whisper among themselves to spread the terrible news, Meg knew she couldn't keep fooling herself any longer. She must've been helped to her bed afterwards, to horror-stricken to remember. But it was all real.

_It wasn't a dream._

_Mother's really dead._

_She's gone._

_Forever._

Meg stared at the wall, even as André continued to say that the show would still go on, a replacement would be found, they mustn't panic…

_I'll never see her again. _The colors blurred, but this time it wasn't because of dizziness or a fainting spell. She didn't feel the tear slip down her cheek as she allowed herself to think of all the things she refused to think of before, when she had thought it all a nightmare.

_Wait. _

Meg was halted even in her grief by what she thought of next. Instead, cold, blank horror replaced it. _No! Please, no._

_This can't be happening._

If everything that happened to Mme. Giry was true, that meant that what she said must have been true as well.

The Phantom of the Opera- had her mother called him Erik? -was her father.

_Of course, _Meg thought, with no small hint of bitterness, _He's dead, too. Or at least he's disappeared; I saw it myself. _

_I have no one. _

The other ballerinas didn't like her very much- she worked hard and was rewarded for it, though many of the others thought that her privileges were out of bias, having the instructor as her mother and all. Even the select few who were nice to her- Aurélie, Jammes, Colette- weren't quite what she'd consider friends.

Then, of course, there was Christine. She was probably the only person in the Opera House whom Meg felt she could confide in. But the soprano was staying at the de Changy manor, now, with her fiancé the Vicomte. She hardly ever visited the Opera anymore, and the only subject she ever discussed with Meg anymore was weddings. Dresses, of course, and music, but also the miniscule details (such as the different patterns in lace) that Meg couldn't care less about.

She cared about Christine, she really did, and she was sure that the soprano's love of singing would draw her back to the Opera Populaire soon enough, but she simply wasn't enough for Meg. Meg truly felt alone in that instant, with her mother gone (and her father too, apparently), her closest friend preoccupied, and her fellow dancers petty and jealous.

_Maybe… _A thought was forming rapidly. _Maybe I could go down, to the cellars and passageways underneath the Opera House, just this once. If mother was correct, and not delirious in her last few moments, I suppose I'd like to learn more about him. After all, _the Opera Ghost _doesn't lend much to what he was like. I know about Christine, of course, but that doesn't define his character. I want to know what my… my father… was like._

She grimaced, having stumbled over the word "father" even in her head, but her mind was made up. Late at night, when everyone was asleep, she would sneak down into the underground lair she had entered once before. She would explore it quickly, learn a little more about _him, _and be back in her bed in time to get a few hours of sleep before morning rehearsals.

**Oh, and by the way, this will mostly be a mix of Leroux and ALW. Some things will be taken from the book, but several details (such as Madame Giry being the ballet instructor, because she's awesome that way) will be similar to the musical. Oh, and could you guys tell me if you think this chapter is confusing at all? Or was her train of thought too rushed? Thanks! Reviews appreciated!**

**That's all, I think!**


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